Time's Justa Flying

I was vague in my last post. I had to be. I was embarrassed. Pissed off. Ashamed. And more. But now I can share. I was fired from my last job. Not only was I fired, I was fired for some shit I didn't even do. Talk about mind blown. There I was, less than 3 months after I walked with a master's degree, and I was canned for some political shit to cover my former boss's ass.

A few of my friends knew, but none of them knew just how far down the pit of despair I was. They didn't know how much I struggled, not just financially, but mentally. The only thing that kept me getting out of bed was the fact that I had to go pick up hours at my shitty retail side gig to keep my home afloat as I took care of my child. Stuff was starting to look bleak. Upon my firing, many of my colleagues at my former job said they had things they could get me until something else landed in my lap. None of them panned out. I was stuck. I even started driving for Postmates, trying to make extra coins.

It was a perfect cherry on an already bleak year. I'd literally started to compile a list of how much this year had been kicking my ass. George Michael died (I know it was last year, but this just stared my streak of a bad year). Next Nivea died. Then of course, Pete. I broke my ankle. I lost my job. I found out a friend from high school has stage 4 breast cancer. Shit was downright painful. I felt like a dark cloud was following me.

Coincidentally, I'd started chatting with a former classmate who was also looking for a job and told me that she knew nothing of the services in Atlanta. I'd started looking around for her, when I saw an ad for a job in my neighborhood. The zip code was the same as mine, so I figured 'what the hell?' and sent in an application.

A few days later, on a Friday, I got a call for an interview and asked to come in Monday. I went. I was asked to attend a second interview on the following day. I went. I was asked to start the following day. I did.
I got it! I did it!!

So I went from a bureaucratic job, one that required me to work nights and weekends. A job that, truth be told, can be quite dangerous and stressful. To a therapeutic environment where I work with people with substance abuse issues, many of whom have mental illness as well. I work Monday thru Friday, 9 to 5. My job is literally an 8 minute drive from home in the mornings. And 15 minutes in the evenings.

To make things even better, the training that I'm getting right now is incredible. I'll be much more qualified than many of my former coworkers whenever I decide to move on to another job. An added bonus is that in working with substance abuse addicts, I'm able to get another view of the issues that Pete battled. Things I wish I'd known previously, I can now use to help other people. Things I wish I'd said to him. I wish I'd empathized more, or acknowledged how much I really did not understand about his journey with addiction. I still may not completely get it. But at least I get it more now.

I plan to get licensed this spring, something I really wasn't leaning toward previously. I'm a therapist. It is amazing. I honestly look forward to attending work each day. I love looking thru my closet to see what cute outfit I'll put on daily. I love putting on makeup. My coworkers and I get along well. My only gripe is how often we have potlucks, because my ass is getting chubbier.

August 16th, I felt like my life was a mess. I cried. I was angry. I worried. And now here, on November 22th, I feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be. And it is good.